After a Couple Hours

My apartment is quiet, which I’m thankful for. Even Luna is curled up in a ball, sleeping soundly. It’s nice to have the momentary peace and quiet. I do a sweep of the perimeter, just to err on the side of caution. It seems like lately, there’s always some sort of action going on in or around my residence. Fortunately, no one gives a damn. My neighbors are gone and the cops are crooked. They’ll stay away until someone pays them not to, and frankly, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I toss my coat over the back of the chair and look at the clock. Just past midnight. Draven will have to wait until tomorrow. I want to catch him by surprise and I get the feeling that Draven is the type of guy who is just starting his day around now. He’s probably going to have all sorts of people over. I’m not much in the mood for another knock-down, drag-out ass-kicking festival at this particular moment. There’s been enough of those lately. I think I’m well over my quota for the month.

I set down the brand new bottle of rum on the counter in the kitchen and rummage around for some sort of a mixer. That’s the best thing about Blues. The management knows me. They can usually tell when I need a pick-me-up. Granted, the free ones are the cheapest kind of liquor, made for the sole purpose of getting you drunk, but, at this point, that’s all I’m looking for. I don’t necessarily need it to taste good. That’s what the mixer is there for. I figure I may be at the whim of straight rum, unless I want to chase it with expired milk or mayonnaise, but just as I’m about to give up all hope, I find a rogue can of Coke in the back of the refrigerator. Megan must’ve brought it over last week. She seemed like a peach at first. In light of the recent discovery about her apparent dishonesty, however, I wonder what her angle is.

I set the can of Coke on the counter next to the rum, and as I’m reaching for a glass, I notice the mint green envelope sitting beside the ashtray. It had completely slipped my mind. I pop some ice in a glass, pour too much rum followed by too little Coke, and I take a long, hard swallow. No use rushing myself now. The letter’s been sitting there all day. What’s a few more seconds? It’s not like it’s going to expire. Once I feel the warmth of the rum in my stomach, then I’ll deal with the letter.

I let my inner monologue run wild, trying to make some sense of the Megan problem. Maybe Megan was mistaken. Maybe she had my sister mixed up with someone else. That’s immediately out. She knew Chenille’s name. Of course she meant my sister. Dammit. Then maybe Chenille was in the wrong. She can’t very well remember everyone. Can she? Another swig of rum and Coke. No, Chenille makes a living recalling names and faces. She wouldn’t have forgotten Megan. If she started forgetting faces and names, she would have to go into early retirement. You start whacking the wrong people and you’ve got yourself in a world of hurt. Chenille knows the score. She’s my own flesh and blood. I shouldn’t doubt her. The brick in my stomach is back. Something is definitely wrong with this picture. I just have to figure out what it is.

I call Megan’s cell. She doesn’t answer. I figured she wouldn’t. She’s probably asleep. I’ll sort this out tomorrow. Now it’s time to face the music. I pick up the envelope and tear it open.

Mr. Maurice, I’m disappointed that you missed our last meeting. We need to finish our discussion. Monday, I’ll find you.

Can’t make any plans for tomorrow after the Draven business is taken care of. This racket is impinging on my social life. I take another swig from the rocks glass and light up a cigarette, last one of the evening. I gotta hit the sack. I have to get the drop on Draven before he gets out of bed.

One day down. Six more to go.